


The Sinner in Me

by withthepilot



Series: Catholic Schoolboys AU [9]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blasphemy, Catholic School, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non Consensual, Religious Themes & References, Schoolboys, Underage Character, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still reeling from the consequences of being led into temptation once, Karl decides to throw himself into the fire again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sinner in Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jurisenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jurisenpai).



> Part 9 of the Catholic Schoolboys AU series. Warning for some dub-con/non-con in this part.

"Karl, just—Karl. Stop."

Karl looks up from between John's legs, taking in the sight of his sexy, rumpled boyfriend: his hair sticking up in clumps from their rough make-out session and his back pressed to the back door of the car. He runs his fingertips over the small welts he's sucked into John's inner thighs, a trail of pink marks leading up to his final destination, which he was just about to get his mouth around when—

"I said, _stop_."

John flinches away and pulls his trousers back up to his waist, leaving Karl bereft. Karl sits back on his haunches and blows stray wisps of hair from his face, shutting his eyes and praying to whichever deities might hear him that John won't say the one thing Karl's been dreading for days, ever since he found out about Chris Pine and what exactly transpired between them in the confessional booth.

But from the look on John's face, Karl knows it's already there on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be released into the muggy air of the car's interior. Karl doesn't make a sound, just waits for John to say it—though it doesn't hurt any less when he does.

"I can't do this anymore." John fixes his gaze out the window, takes a shaky breath and sets his jaw, as if Karl could convince him to change his mind. "M'sorry, Karl. I really... I tried to forget about it, but I just can't."

"John," Karl whispers. He touches his forehead to John's shoulder, risking the chance that he might be pushed to the other side of the seat. John doesn't move, just lets him lean there—and somehow, that show of ambivalence hurts more than being shoved away. Karl swallows against the scratchy feeling in his throat, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels. He knows he said he would understand if John wanted to end things but that was just a lie; Karl can't handle breaking up, can't handle the idea of going through the drudgery of school every day without the promise that John will turn up in the end and make things better.

"Tell me what to do to fix it," Karl ends up saying. He resists the urge to curl his fingers in John's uniform jacket, though it's tough. "I'll do _anything_. I swear to God."

"Don't do that," John replies, laughing bitterly. "I know how important He is to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Karl squints at John, who just shakes his head in return.

"Just that this all never would have happened if you hadn't gotten a guilty conscience and blabbed in confession, anyway. It's _private_ , Karl. If you're so worried about your mortal soul, what the hell are you doing between my legs every afternoon?"

The words burn Karl like hot wax from a church candle. "Don't question my—"

"Your what? Your morals? Your sanctity?" John counters. He laughs again and unknots his tie, then finally meets Karl's gaze. "You know how I told you I saw Chris' bruises in the locker room?"

"Yeah." Karl feels a burst of jealousy in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Chris—and not just Chris but Chris in a _locker room_ , alone with John. "You mean you...?"

" _No_. He wanted to, but I didn't, because I was with _you_. Because I thought of your feelings. So don't pretend like you fucked him to avenge me or something, because you didn't."

"I _know_ that, John! Christ, I thought we'd been through all this already!"

"Yeah, well, I'm still mad at you, Karl! And all the rough, angry sex in the world isn't going to fix it."

Karl runs a hand over his face and slumps against the seat. Ever since their initial fight, he and John had been avoiding any further discussion of the issue, just mauling each other in the backseat of his car in the woods every day after school, trying to drown out regret and resentment with biting kisses and scratches, pinned hips and sharp thrusts. And John has egged him on every time, demanding marks and bruises from Karl's mouth and hands, but Karl hasn't missed the empty look in his eyes after it's done, nor the spirit missing from his voice when he asks Karl to drive him home.

John's right. It's been fucking miserable.

"I'm sorry," Karl whispers. He looks away from John when tears rush to his eyes and spill hotly down his cheeks before he can stop them. And John gives him the saddest look, like he understands but just can't bear it anymore.

"Me too," he says. He opens the back door and grabs his bag from the front seat. "I'm going to walk home. See you, I guess."

After the door slams shut, Karl doesn't turn his head to watch John walk away—just sits in his wrinkled uniform and stares straight ahead until long after the sun goes down. After a while, he finally gets the strength to clamber back into the driver's seat and head home, where he ignores his mother's questions about why he missed dinner and goes straight up the stairs to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Karl shucks off the various components of his uniform and leaves them in a pile on the floor by the bed, the very spot in which he normally kneels for his evening prayers. He laughs at the thought and drops face-first onto his bed, holding his pillow with two hands as he tries to erase the day with blessed sleep.

In the morning, he doesn't feel much better. He tries to make up a story about feeling sick and how he's probably too unwell to go to school, but his mother only places the back of her hand to his forehead and then hands him his lunch with a shove toward the front door. Karl grumbles all the way to his car and squints up into the rearview mirror before he backs out of the driveway.

Honestly, he's a terrible liar.

As usual, he gets to school earlier than the majority of the other kids, since he likes to go into the church for morning prayers before classes. Today, though, he doesn't feel much like praying, so he ends up wandering around the grounds of the school, kicking at rocks and small stones as he scuffs his feet in the dirt. He finds himself by the cross-country track after a while; it's where jocks like Eric Bana usually spend their afternoons running laps like dumb dogs chasing after their tails.

Karl sighs and starts mulling over the idea of turning around back toward the main building for a quick prayer when he's distracted by the sight of figures beneath the bleachers—two of them. He nearly walks right into a tree when he realizes who they are.

Chris Pine and Zach Quinto.

He ducks behind the same tree on instinct and catches his breath before carefully twisting to peer out from behind the thick trunk. And Christ almighty, there they are, just as Zach said—one of the most popular (and equally reviled) boys in school and one of the biggest geeks, tangled up in each other and dueling with their tongues like their lives depend on it. For a moment, just the very idea that they're here is beyond Karl; Chris would normally never be caught dead arriving to school on time, let alone early, and this is probably Zach's first gander at the cross-country track altogether. But in the shadows, protected by the safety of the bleachers where no one—or so they assume—can see them, they both look totally comfortable, like they belong here.

It's when Zach drops down to his knees in front of Chris that Karl starts to feel a little lightheaded. And when Chris' impressive cock comes out of his trousers and slips into Zach's waiting mouth, Karl has to grip the tree trunk with both hands to stay upright, digging his fingernails into the dirty bark.

Chris doesn't hold back when he moans, thinking he's completely alone; he grips the back of a bleacher seat with one hand and sifts the other through Zach's dark, shining hair, and if Karl didn't know better, he'd say it looked like Chris was displaying affection. They're fucking _beautiful_ , the two of them, and though there was a part of Karl that didn't quite believe Zach when he came to his house to rant about Chris, there's no denying it now. Karl presses his hips to the tree trunk and exhales heavily, keeping his gaze directly on them while trying to be discreet. He can't help himself; they're hot and he doesn't have John to do stuff like this with anymore and the thrill of watching them hook up without them knowing he's there is dizzying.

He can't risk soiling his uniform, though, so Karl opens up his trousers as carefully as he can, taking his hardening length in hand and stroking in time with the bobbing of Zach's head. Soon, Chris pulls Zach off his cock and hauls him to his feet, and then Zach's cock is out faster than Karl can blink—both of them in Chris' hand as he strokes them together and _fuck_ , that's too sexy for words. Karl's breathing hitches and he struggles to keep his eyes fully open as he runs his thumb over the crown of his cock, smearing the telltale liquid already there. He sees everything: the part of Chris' red lips as he gasps, the clench of Zach's fingers in Chris' leather jacket when he bucks forward, the slick slide of their flushed skin, which rips shaky moans out of both of them.

Zach is the first to come, which is ridiculously hot, considering he was the one who was doing the cock sucking. He tips his face forward against the exposed column of Chris' neck and the gesture is so intimate and sexy and disgustingly stunning that Karl has to squelch a yelp as he explodes into his hand, cum dripping off his fingertips. He blinks to clear his foggy vision, just in time to see Chris arch with one good jerk of Zach's fist on his cock, his blue eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Karl swallows and crouches to get some tissues from his bag. He's been carrying them around ever since he started fooling around with John and he's glad he didn't think to throw them away.

When he's done cleaning up, Karl peers around the circumference of the tree trunk again and watches with an ache in his throat as Chris and Zach kiss, practically petting each other in the afterglow. And just like that, the lust is completely overwhelmed by resentment and disgust. It's just not _fair_ that Chris gets to have this—have _someone_. Karl feels the sharp bite of hatred flow through him when he remembers Chris' taunting voice on the other side of the confessional booth, the one that convinced Karl to spill forth with all his secrets, led him to his own ruin. And here Chris is, huddling behind the bleachers with a boy who knows about everything he's done and continues to want him.

Meanwhile, John's never going to speak to Karl again. He seethes quietly, staring at Chris' smiling face, the one that took his own happiness away, open and laughing like he doesn't have a bloody care in the world. Karl wants to go over there and pummel Chris into the ground, smash his grinning mouth into the bleachers while Zach watches. Hell, he could take both of them; he knows he can.

But he doesn't. Karl gets up swiftly, bag in hand, and heads for school. If either Zach or Chris notices him, he doesn't turn around to find out.

He goes through his classes feeling like a zombie, doing his best to avoid being called upon or spoken to in any manner. The class he dreads the most is Algebra, knowing Chris will be there, and it's no surprise whatsoever when the asshole starts hovering around Karl's desk as soon as he takes his seat.

"Hey, Urban," he drawls, and Karl gives him the filthiest scowl he can manage. Of course, it only makes Pine laugh. "You know, I think you and Cho are starting to share facial expressions."

"Shut up, Pine," he grumbles.

"You look like someone flushed your goldfish." Chris is arching a taunting brow when Karl finally looks up at him, but otherwise, he's the picture of innocence. Karl's fingers twitch with the urge to deck him again. "Troubles with the missus?"

" _Chris_ ," Karl hisses. He's about to launch into a tirade, or whatever he can manage before the bell rings, but it doesn't come, getting stuck in his throat somewhere along the way. He fumbles with his notebook and looks away, his voice coming out harsh and raspy. "Fucking leave me alone. Okay?"

Chris gives his requisite little smirk but then, to Karl's surprise, he actually does as he's told, turning his attention to his notebook and not saying another word.

Karl spends the rest of the day in a haze, floating in and out of his classes on instinct, roaming the halls without really watching where he's going. He's pretty sure he walks right into Eric Bana at one point and incurs some spoken wrath along the lines of, "Watch where you're going, Kiwi prick," but he can't be bothered to care. It feels like there are a hundred eyes boring into the back of his head, people whispering to each other about his failed go with John; he has to remind himself that no one knows beyond Chris and maybe Zach, and if they're smart, they'll keep their tongues in each other's mouths instead of flapping them about.

On his way to the gym, Karl's spirits lift a bit when he spies John exiting the locker room, but then Karl realizes he's talking to that new Russian kid—Anton—and suddenly, he feels like breaking a fistful of pencils. He can tell just by looking at that curly-haired little creep that he's brimming over with sin. And if he's got designs on John, well...

Karl huffs out a frustrated breath and makes a split decision to turn away so John doesn't spot him. He ends up walking right into Zach Quinto, of all people, who nearly topples over from the weight of his backpack. He's standing uncomfortably close, a little too close for their run-in to be purely coincidental.

"What the hell, Quinto?" Karl asks, his mouth drawn into a severe frown. "You following me or something?"

Zach just gives him a fierce look, widening his stance as if preparing for a fight. "Chris is in there," he says, motioning to the gymnasium. Karl furrows his brow.

"So?"

"I saw you bothering him earlier." Zach twists his mouth, narrowing his dark eyes. "Why can't you just leave him alone?"

" _He_ was bothering—oh, fuck, this is a _joke_."

"It's not a joke," Zach huffs, stepping close again. With those dark eyes and that firm scowl, he almost looks threatening. "I told you to stay away from Chris. You're not going to touch him again."

It feels like a massive splinter digging into his spine when Zach says those words, and Karl doesn't even blink as he grabs the kid by the shoulders and shoves him into the wall, hard. It's his fucking temper acting up again and he knows as much when his pupils focus on Zach, suddenly shaky-breathed and trembling before him—but it's just too much. It's too fucking _much_.

"Listen, you little shit," he hisses into Zach's face. "I don't want Chris. I _hate_ Chris. He ruined my fucking life and yet he walks around this school like a God among men, doing whatever he wants and fucking a willing _doormat_..." He snarls the last bit, shoving Zach square in the chest again for good measure. "And everyone lets him get away with murder. And what do I get for trying to be a good person in comparison? Maybe I should just be a slut like him!"

Zach growls then, a sound that takes Karl completely by surprise, and he drops his backpack like it's on fire, pushing back from the wall and shoving Karl across the width of the corridor. Karl hits the wall and it fucking _hurts_. He's stunned for only a moment, and then he takes Zach by the lapel of his blazer, yanking him forward for a punch. Zach anticipates it, though, and swings blindly at him, snagging Karl's jaw and causing him to fall backwards against a door. He lands on his behind with Zach sprawled out on top of him, and when he looks up, he sees the words "Teachers' Lounge" on the glass pane of the opened door. Behind him, someone yelps and there's the sound of a zipper closing.

Karl tilts his head back and swallows heavily at what he sees: Father Bruce. With the Russian kid halfway on his lap.

This can't be happening.

"Oh, my god," Zach says, frozen in place on top of Karl and obviously scared shitless. Father Bruce flies out of his chair and hauls Karl and Zach to their feet, then rushes to close the lounge door.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demands. Zach just gapes in response. Karl looks across the room and catches sight of Anton, watching with interest and licking his lips—his eyes full of sin, just as Karl suspected.

"Sorry, Father," he manages to say, squinting. "I fell into the door and—"

"Oh, don't tell me you two are fooling around now, too," Father Bruce remarks. Karl exchanges a horrified glance with Zach, and the priest only smirks, placing his hands on his hips. "You think I don't know what goes on in my own school? I'm the headmaster, after all. I know all about you and John Cho, Mr. Urban," he drawls. He points a finger at Zach. "Not to mention you and that Pine boy, Mr. Quinto. Very disappointing to see such a promising student like you getting involved with such a hooligan."

Zach's cheeks go red, though Karl can't tell if it's from shame or anger. Either way, Zach only backs off, likely too afraid of getting into trouble with the administration. "May we be excused, Father?" he asks quietly. Father Bruce places his hands on his hips.

"Well, unfortunately, you two have caught me in a rather compromising position." He motions to Anton, who perks up at the attention and grins wolfishly at Zach. Karl absently notes the way Zach seems to shrink back from the boy's attention; then he focuses on Bruce again. "I have to make sure you keep quiet about this. I think a dual expulsion should do it."

" _No_!" Zach blurts out. Karl swallows heavily, nervous as well; he's meant to finally graduate from this hellhole this year. He can't let Bruce just take everything away from him—everything that's left, that is.

"What do you want?" Karl asks, squaring his shoulders.

"Your silence," the priest answers. He touches the gold buckle of his belt, already undone. "And a bit of variety."

Out of the corner of his eye, Karl can see Zach cross himself, and he wants to roll his eyes or let out a laugh; it reminds him of something he would normally do. They're both breathing heavily and Anton's smile is as sharp as a butcher's knife at this point and Bruce is palming himself through his fucking priest's garments and—

Karl shuts his eyes and silently asks a higher power for forgiveness.

"I'll do it," he says, before he can stop himself, "if you let Zach leave."

Zach gives him a wide-eyed look of surprise and Karl just purses his lips. As much as he hates Chris Pine right now, Zach is a good guy; if all he wants in life is to be close to Chris, then that's Chris' lot to fuck up somehow, not Karl's.

"Sure, kid," Father Bruce says, shrugging one shoulder. "I think expulsion's enough of a threat for Mr. Quinto here, anyway. Get outta here, Zachary."

Zach blinks and then takes a step toward the door, pausing to look at Karl one more time. Karl nods to him; he knows this is the moment in which his heart is meant to break or he says goodbye to his innocence, but all it amounts to is that he just doesn't care anymore.

"Go," he says to Zach, woodenly.

Zach bites his lip and hesitates briefly before fleeing the room.

Karl reaches out to lock the door after Zach goes and then tentatively steps toward Father Bruce, who perches himself in a chair and extracts his cock from his pants, stroking the already hardened length. He's a good-looking man, Bruce, and his bright eyes stay firmly trained on Karl as he approaches.

 _You can do this_ , Karl tells himself. _Chris does this sort of thing all the time and he has everything he wants. Maybe this is the best thing._

"What about him?" he asks throatily, nodding toward Anton. The boy sits perched on a desk, looking on with interest.

"Don't worry about him," Bruce answers. "He's the witness. It'll keep you in line. Now..." The Father spreads his knees apart in invitation, arching a brow. "On your knees, Karl-Heinz."

Karl suppresses a shiver and drops down to a kneeling position in front of Father Bruce. He shuts his eyes and takes in the oddly intoxicating scent of the man before he fits his mouth around the head of his long cock, then slides the flat of his tongue slowly down the underside. The priest lets out a shaky moan and threads his fingers in Karl's hair, twisting the brown strands. Karl shudders when the tangled hands tug lightly, pulling him further onto the cock before him. He always liked it when John took some control during sex, but going down on Father Bruce elicits completely new and foreign sensations; it's illicit and wrong, the last thing a good Catholic boy should be doing, and therefore exactly what he _needs_ to do. Karl screws his eyes shut tightly and sucks hard at the heavy cock in his mouth as Bruce chuckles above him.

"Enjoying this, are you, son...? You like sucking cock? Good at it, really damn good..."

Karl pries his eyes open to look up at Bruce, whose head is tilted back in pleasure, Adam's apple bobbing against the white tab of his priest's collar. Anton watches from the other side of the desk, transfixed as he touches himself, and Karl tries to forget about how miserable he feels and concentrate on being the center of the show, the humiliation of being used and the dark edges of sin closing in on him. Karl swirls his tongue as he works the base of Bruce's cock with his curled fingers; he grunts when he's suddenly pulled off, coughing on his own saliva.

"That's enough, Karl-Heinz. I don't think we're making our new student feel welcome."

Bruce pulls Karl to his feet and then moves to sit in his large chair, leaving Karl confused and dazed until he realizes that Anton is approaching, his small, lithe form slithering to the floor like the most unholy serpent in all of Eden. He peers up at Karl from behind that curtain of innocent-looking curls and reaches out to unbuckle his belt, arching a brow when Karl flinches away.

"No way," he states, shaking his head, his messy bangs falling forward. " _He's_ not touching me."

"What's wrong, kid?" Bruce asks. He leans back in his chair, lazily stroking his cock now as he observes them. "Worried about your boyfriend finding out? It won't leave this room."

Karl feels himself blush down to the collar of his dress shirt and he attempts to hide his face. The last person he wants to talk about is John, especially not with these two. "He's—"

"His boyfriend is very handsome," Anton chimes in. Karl lowers his head and grits his teeth when he spies the devilish look in the Russian's eyes, his pink tongue flickering over his full lips. It's no wonder that Father Bruce keeps him. But right now, Karl just wants him to fucking disappear. "I like him very much."

"Stay the _fuck_ away from him, you—oh, Jesus..."

Anton's simply begun to lick at Karl's cock through his pants, nuzzling his crotch like it's his favorite place to be and opening his fly as smoothly as a knife cutting through warm butter. Karl grunts and tries not to grow aroused at the sensations but his body betrays him, and his cock springs out of his pants half-hard, slipping immediately into Anton's sweltering, waiting mouth. He knows Bruce is sitting mere feet away, unabashedly working at his cock as he watches, and it's difficult to do anything but give in and simply concentrate on the slow slide of his cock between Anton's plump lips and the maddening pattern of his suction—strong then gentle and then strong again, his lips tightening and cheeks hollowing. Bruce mutters encouraging words under his breath and Karl holds the Russian boy by the scruff of his neck, torn between whether it would help to envision John there or not. He decides quickly that it wouldn't help at all

"God, come on, kid," Father Bruce grunts. His voice is deeper than before, raspy with lust. "He's good, isn't he? Come down his throat; let me see it."

Between the practiced talent of Anton's mouth and Bruce's filthy words, Karl finds he can't hold off any longer. He holds Anton on his cock with one hand and grips the edge of the desk with the other as he shakes and comes hard with a sob. Anton swallows around his length, almost dutifully; then he touches Karl's hip in a way that he supposes is meant to be soothing. Karl sucks in a breath, about to curse at him, when Anton suddenly stands and pushes down on Karl's shoulder, forcing him into a kneeling position. Karl makes a quizzical sound and blinks rapidly when his chin is lifted up, squinting at the sight of the boy unzipping his pants.

"No," he whispers, turning his face down, his sweaty bangs falling forward. "D-don't even... I won't do it."

"You will," Anton says, still gripping his chin. "Or I'll tell John everything."

Karl stutters out a shallow breath and hesitates before shutting his eyes and parting his lips. In a minute's time at most, Anton releases into his mouth with a cry, so much that Karl's forced to swallow it down, a few drips trickling down to his jaw. Bruce walks over, having taken care of business in the midst of everything, and thrusts a tissue at Karl, arching a severe brow.

"Now, get out of my sight, Urban. And don't ever interrupt me again."

Karl just nods, taking the tissue with a shaking hand. He doesn't dare look at either of them as he wipes his face, pulls up his zipper and exits the room.

He needs to clean up and compose himself, he figures, so he stumbles to the boys' locker room on the same floor. Karl keeps his head down, his mind clouded with a fog of latent lust and utter disbelief, and he barely notices when he bumps shoulders with someone on the way to the bathroom—that is, until he's shoved against a locker, his collision with the metal door making a ridiculously loud noise.

"You again, Urban?" he hears, and the snide, nasal accent is enough to tell him it's Eric Bana. He vaguely remembers knocking into him earlier and being called a nasty name, but it's all a blur now. "Can't watch where you're going today, can you?"

"S-sorry, I didn't...um..."

"Holy shit," Eric blurts out. His eyes go wide as he looks Karl over and then he starts cackling. "Is that—is that _cum_ on your face? You been sucking cock between classes, Urban?"

"I..." Karl blinks and reaches up to idly paw at his cheek, too dazed to come up with a bogus answer. "Yeah."

"You're kidding. I didn't take you for a queer."

Karl looks away, unable to muster up the proper energy to sneer at him. "You learn something new every day," he says, not bothering to mask the sarcasm in his voice that will likely go over Bana's head. He hears the sounds of other boys opening and closing their lockers, though no one else is in sight.

"Well, fuck. The Kiwi's a cocksucker, is he?" Eric gives him a purely amused look, and then something in his expression changes. He brings his thumb up to Karl's mouth, swiping it slowly across his swollen bottom lip. "You know, I've been horny all day. Don't suppose you want to suck another?"

Karl feels his stomach lurch at the thought and tries not to visibly recoil. "Listen, I don't—"

"Or would you rather everybody hears about your extracurriculars? Because that can also be arranged, mate."

Karl squints at Eric's smirking face and feels his resolve shatter all too quickly. Deep down, he knows shouldn't do it. Eric is one of the most popular boys in school and one of the least trustworthy; plus, Karl already aches all over and his jaw is sore from sucking two cocks in one day. But when Eric pushes his gym shorts down and fists his shaft, Karl's knees seem to buckle on their own, as if he's pitching himself into a black hole; he lowers himself in front of Eric, saying nothing and simply mouthing along the side of his cock. The Aussie tilts his head back against a locker with a bang.

" _Shit_ , Karl...didn't know you were gagging for it like this. _Fuck_."

Karl willfully ignores Eric as he takes the head of his cock between his lips. He pulls back momentarily to lave his tongue over Eric's balls, about to suck him down as far as he can when he hears a noise of surprise from a few feet away.

"Karl?!"

The two boys lift their heads at the same time to see Chris Pine, standing in his gym uniform with his bag slung over one shoulder, looking sweaty and absolutely gobsmacked. Eric huffs in annoyance and Karl just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking into the bright blue eyes that first led him to sin.

"You'll have to wait your turn," he murmurs.

"Wait my—Karl, what are you _doing_?" Chris furrows his brow, stepping closer. "What about John?"

"Mind your own fucking business, Pine," Karl hisses. The last thing he needs is morality lessons from _Chris Pine_.

"John who?" Eric asks.

Before Karl can answer, Chris surges forward and pulls him to his feet with both hands, pushing him toward the bathroom. Eric shouts after them, but Chris hustles him into the other room quickly, locking the door behind them. Karl laughs tiredly at the entire situation and slumps against a wall, tugging at the already loosened knot of his tie.

"My hero," he mutters.

"Jesus." Chris gives Karl an imploring look, like he wants— _needs_ to understand what's happening. "Listen, Urban: I know I hate you right now, but this isn't like you. You can't just go around sucking dick in the locker room. What are you, crazy?"

Karl shakes his head, leaning his weight against the tiles. He feels ridiculously tired, like he's been drugged. And then there's Chris—just standing there, with absolutely no idea that Karl's been loathing him all day. With those shining eyes and hair sticking up all wild, he looks like a fallen angel, like temptation on two legs—or perhaps redemption. Karl reaches out and touches the center of Chris' chest, feeling the quickened heartbeat there. Then he bunches his hand in the dingy, damp cotton, pulling him forward into a kiss. Chris stiffens against Karl's body but opens his mouth and kisses back for a few moments; then he moves back reluctantly, licking his chapped lips and casting his eyes down.

"Um...sorry, but—"

"You picked an inconvenient time to grow a conscience, Pine," Karl murmurs. Chris bites his lip, looking as though he might yet change his mind. But then he turns away.

"Sorry. You're hot, but...I can't." Chris moves for the door and turns to give Karl one last strange, almost pitying look. "You should go home."

Karl swallows and turns his head to look in the mirror for the first time all day. He takes in his sweaty, stained visage, tousled hair and wrinkled clothes; his mouth, so red with sin that it appears to bleed. It's like looking into the face of a stranger. A demon. He appraises his reflection and clutches the edge of the sink with both hands; the porcelain feels like cold fire against his burning skin.

"Yeah," Karl whispers. "I should."

He shuts his eyes against the utterly wrecked sight of himself and keeps them closed for god knows how long—mere seconds, maybe minutes. And when he opens them again, Chris is still standing there, chewing on his lip.

"The thing is...Zach told me what you did," he says, shifting awkwardly on his feet. The look he gives Karl is—dare he think it?—grateful. "I'll, um...I'll go with you."

Karl lets out a breath, nodding before he has time to question it. After an awkward moment of silence, he follows the other boy out of the bathroom and Chris waits for him to catch up before they fall into step.


End file.
